Wendy: A Silent Hero Remembered

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It’s been 10 days since I received the news that my dear friend Wendy had left us. A decade of days, each carrying the weight of grief, sadness, and a bewildering sense of loss.

Guy de Maupassant once penned in his novel, Bel Ami, “The only certainty is death.”

It is the inevitabilty of every tree, flower, animal and human journey — the arc of life bends towards its own end. But what fills the arc with brilliance is everything we do between our first breath and our last. It’s the friendships we forge, the laughter we share, the tears we wipe away, and the love we generously sprinkle over the lives of others.

Why then has Wendy’s abrupt departure from this world left me so disoriented?

The word ‘unexpected’ echoes through my mind.

I had plans with Wendy, plans that involved many more days of laughter, stories, a glass or two of wine, and a charcuterie board artfully assembled. I was expecting to see her again.

Last Tuesday, HomeSpace, the not-for-profit organization she dedicated her considerable energy to, hosted a celebration to honour her life’s work. A crowd of colleagues, past co-workers, and her loving family gathered to celebrate a woman who was the silent engine behind so much good. Wendy was a woman who made the world a better place simply by doing—by organizing, by guiding, by supporting, and by empowering others to be their best selves.

Wendy never sought applause or public acknowledgment. She thrived behind the scenes, diligently ensuring others could stand in the spotlight.

If Wendy could hear the heartfelt stories and tributes shared in her honour that day, I imagine she’d dismiss the praise with her usual modesty. She would retreat to the kitchen, fussing over an extra cheese plate or refilling wine glasses, patiently waiting for the collective adultation to move on. Then, she would return to the crowd, quietly making her rounds to ensure that everyone was taken care of.

Don’t get me wrong, Wendy wasn’t a saint adorned in rose-colored glasses. She had her flaws and complexities like each of us, but it was precisely those nuanced layers that made her so incredibly human, so deeply cherished.She was a woman of many opinions—on governments and leaders, healthcare, and even the inefficiency of city traffic. We’d often muse (and chuckle) about how the world would be a more compassionate place if we were in charge. Yet, she never uttered a word that could hurt a friend, tarnish a colleague, or dim the atmosphere of a gathering.

And when we’d finished with complaining about the state of the world, we’d resume our conversations about the transformative power of art, the pressing issue of homelessness, and the secret to a perfect lemon pie as if these topics formed the very air we breathed.

Wendy was a woman of action, and during the pandemic, she transformed into a ‘mask-making wizard.’ At the memorial, some of her countless masks adorned a wall, framed by photographs capturing her life. Every face in those photos had at some point been touched by Wendy’s kindness, likely having received a mask or some other gift from her.

She gave until her heart could give no more.

Now, her heart has given its last beat; her breath its final exhale. Wendy is gone, but she leaves behind footprints deeply embedded in our hearts—imprints we never expected would be set in such quicksand.

What remains are the memories I will cradle in my heart, wrapped in a quilt of tender loving care.

Wendy’s absence has reminded me of the fragility of life, urging me to cherish each shared laugh, every shared story, all the shared moments that dance in the space between birth and the inevitability that Maupassant wrote of.

And so, while the world feels a bit dimmer without her, Wendy’s light continues to shimmer in the countless lives she has touched—mine most certainly included.

31 thoughts on “Wendy: A Silent Hero Remembered”

  1. How beautifully you write about The Silent Hero and close friend.
    To have lived a life that instilled so much warmth and care is a wonderful
    Gift to to leave. I so understand the loss and grief you feel. You will never forget her but she will remain within as a strength.
    With warm thoughts
    Miriam

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    • Thank you June. I think I was in a fog and missed connecting re coffee. My apologies. We shall have to wait now until I am back from Ireland mid October. I’m looking forward to connecting dear friend.

      Much gratitude.

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  6. Oh I‘m so mad at myself, Louise…. Had my comment ready to send out, got an urgent phone call, then had to hang my washing, and pouffff, my long comment was gone awol.
    First, is Louise your pseudonym? Because Mark with a k addresses you as Elgie….
    Then, I really get it – you lost, as I read, unexpectedly, a wonderful long-time friend… what a heartbreak. Your testimonial is so heart-felt, I feel I have known your friend Wendy. She obviously was a truly GOOD woman, in every sense, and luckily for all of us she had her flaws too. That‘s always good to know because if she was perfect, we‘d be bound to hate her eventually, right?!
    My condolences, your tribute most certainly will give the grieving family and friends much needed courage and help.
    I hardly dare saying it, but I‘ve experienced five passings in 6 weeks. The youngest at 23, child of my in-laws, the oldest my auntie who would have celebrated her 100th birthday on November 1st. The most unexpected ‚departure‘ was a friend who survived (just) a massive heart-attack, was found inoperable due to the damage to his heart, but recovered within 2 years, got healthier, exercised, took on less work, less travelling, more hikes and healthier diet – only to die within 10 days from an esophageal cancer. Yeah, who says that life is always fair?

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    • Mark is the person who inspired me to start a blog long ago (March 2007) and has always called me Elgie – and no. Louise is my real name. 🙂

      I am so sorry to hear of the five passages in the past 6 weeks. That is not only sad but a lot of tragedy — You’re inlaws must be devastated as I am sure you and all the family are. And your friend who survived so much only to be taken so unexpectedly and suddenly… so sad.

      I am sorry my dear friend for your sorrow and loss. While it is all part of this life arch we live, it is hard to see and feel it’s ending. ❤ Much love to you dear Kiki. ❤

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    • She truly was a dear friend Paul and Pattie. And the four of us had such fun together! But then, that is your way. To savour and enjoy every moment of life surrounded by people who care about you and for you. Thank you for your friendship. Your smiles and your wonderful laughter. Pattie, I will never forget watching a baseball game with you on TV. Classic! So much fun! 🙂

      The celebration at HomeSpace was wonderful. In fact, Bernadette announced that they are refurbishing the Bankview building and will be renaming it in honour of Wendy. Isn’t that awesome! ❤

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  10. Elgie,

    A beautiful tribute to your friend. Losses, expected or not, hit us harder methinks as we grow older and perhaps a tad wiser. Obviously, when we are young fewer people die and we all act as if we were invulnerable because the arch of life had barely started, we scarcely knew what to expect in our 20s and 30s, so how could we expect to understand later life? In my mid-30s a client – Ben and his wife Kay were both 84 at the time (Ben was the 1st principal of Ross Sheppard High School and retired in 1967), and some advice he gave me then has served me well, “Mark, as you get older, make lots of younger friends, because you’ll find that your friends will be dying” … and that has stayed with me as well as many memories of them. It’s recently occurred to me (sorry, I’m slow ..) that we were doing more than being my client, he was making a younger friend and passing on his wisdom. Duh! … and I try to follow his advice.

    As I read your tribute to your friend I’m also getting a daily chronicle from a friend (he shares his daily issues with 30 friends) as he is entering week six of a seven-week regime of radiation and chemo for throat cancer. It’s 103 days since he was diagnosed, and the wait for treatment in Edmonton was estimated at 100 days, so he’d be 3 days into treatment if he’d not become an instant Calgarian in August. His entourage of followers is getting brutally frank (interspersed with humour and his daily choices of music for what he calls Radiation Ragtime – because he needs to be absolutely still but can’t bear the silence) diaries of what he and his family are going through. It is challenging to witness someone fighting for life when cancer is voting for death. We cheer Ken and applaud his courage and spirit (your description of your friend sounds like someone like Ken, who would have enjoyed Ken too) …

    What I’m stumbling to say to you, to fellow fans of yours, is that this piece today – like so many others, feel like we are making new friends with people we’ll never meet, and that capacity for words you have is a talent for storytelling we appreciate.

    Your terminology is sometimes girl/sappy, and you know that’s not the side of you that I identify with best, but I really enjoyed this one and appreciated your tribute to your friend.

    And, we are long overdue for a chat/coffee get together, so let’s do that soon.

    Cheers,
    Mark

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    • Hi unknown Mark, I think you did a marvellous job with your comment and co-tribute to (another) Wendy. I hear you, read you, understand you and I think you are very right to say that we elderly semesters should look for younger friends, as the older ones are dying…. A lesson to take to heart. Thank you for that. And no, you‘re not stumbling, you‘re absolutely clear!

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    • YES! re coffee — sometime in October. I am off on Friday next week for 10 days in ireland. My solo writing retreat and visit to my father’s homeland. Let’s set something up when I’m back. It would be lovely to connect.

      And — I am not sure which I appreciated reading more — your comment or exchange with Kiki which is absolutely delightful.

      I think your 84 year old friend was very wise and your friend Ken is very brave. Thank you for sharing a little bit of his story. It is both inspiring and heartbreaking.

      Much gratitude for you Mark.

      Let’s book that coffee!

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      • Louise, dear Louise; Thou shallot not lie…. Can‘t reply right under your comment to Mark re this Swiss girl, and I apologise for intruding several times.
        Mark, I‘m nothing of all of this…. She is a story writer. Don‘t forget that!
        Kiki

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      • Now you‘re flattering me…. But I too would love to have ‚that‘ coffee or tea get-together, although chances are rather slim! Why not come to Switzerland for it, instead of Calgary? Just a suggestion…. Much love. K

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  11. as if these topics formed the very air we breathed. Those words are friendship personified. I love them. I am so sorry for your loss – you have written a beautiful tribute to, as Iwona says, a kindred spirit. Bernie

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  12. The footprints our dear friends leave in our hearts shall never really dissipate with time. Your friend Wendy was lucky to have you as a friend – kindred spirits – the photo says it all.

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    • Like you, she also quilted — and sewed just about everything. In fact, she made the skirt I wore for my wedding. We spent hours and hours wandering fabric shops searching for one that called to me — I wanted something from india as mom was not strong enough to attend. The fabric we found was a heavy, heavy silk with hand embroidered flowers and birds on it — it was meant to cover a sofa. Liseanne’s comment was, “Oh good. You’re wearing a couch for your wedding.” 🙂 It was and is a beautiful skirt. ❤

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